When Life Changes 1 - Faults
by leaysaye
Summary: Sometimes our thoughts and words don't match up with our actions. Extreme situations bring out a particular part of us. What happens to our convictions when the situation changes is often surprising, and sometimes painful. Beth is dead, and Daryl is hurting. Their situation out on the road is desperate, but Rick realizes one priority has to be Daryl. A POV experiment. rickyl, slash
1. Chapter 1

The sun's hot on m'skin. So hot. It has no right t'be shining so brightly, really. But maybe it's good. It's scorching, burning us. Burnin' me.

What a fucking failure I am. Knew I was, from when I was small. Been tol' enough times. Merle, pa. An' they were right. But at least then, nobody died when I fucked up. Now somebody dies every fucking time I turn m'back.

This cigarette tastes like ass. Why did I even light it? Stupid question, I know t'answer. Sure as hell ain't cos I need a break, or deserve one, or anything nice, really. Carol keeps talkin' like I'm a fuckin' hero. I'm not. I know it, why can nobody else see the truth?

I'm an illiterate redneck, or close enough to it to make no fuckin' difference. Fuck, I can hardly see for t'tears spilling over now…

Used t'be different. Used t'think it was them who was wrong. Who weren't zen enough to deal with this shit. Now I know better.

Truth is, I knew better then. Even then, at the very start. They jus' tolerated me, let me tag along. I was useful, sometimes. Kept food on the table, or the fucking camp fire, rather. They made me feel good about it too, cos they were afraid. Afraid t'go hungry, be walker chow. Weaklings.

No, not true. They aren't. Rick… he ain't no weakling. But I should've known, that it was no good, way back when I couldn't save Sophia. One little girl, an' I failed. She was in the barn, all along. I still have nightmares 'bout it. Makes me sick, puke m'guts out, sometimes, when noone's lookin'.

Beth, she asked me. Did I ever cut m'wrists to get attention. No, I said, and had a drink anyway. But I did. Cut, I mean. Not my wrists, too obvious. Thighs, ankles, belly. Not fo' attention tho. Did it so I wouldn' go mad, jump off a bridge.

Now she's dead, too. Beth. Didn' really get me, any better than the rest of 'em. But she made me feel ok, a bit, sometimes. Her singing did, for sure. And when she held me…

But it's not her I want t'hold me, not really. It's… oh, never mind! Ain't gonna happen now. Too late. Too many chances missed. Fuck, but I'm tired…

I want t'get away, so much it makes m'skin hurt. Like I'm on fire and I can' just crawl out, leave it behind. Leave the scars behind, start new. But what would it be like, starting again with no skin? Think I saw a movie once like that. Made me puke. Or maybe t'was Merle's moonshine. I don't remember.

Carol knows now, of course. Knows what pa did. Merle knew, and he didn't give a shit. Just wen' off, left me there. 'm used to it, people leaving me behind. Don't mean it gets any easier, or better. Still hurts t'same, one hundred ninetieth time as much as t'first. Maybe I'm better off on m' own, even after all this.

But that won't do. We got Judith, and Carl. Fuck, I don't want anything t'happen t'them. Or t'… never mind, don't think about it, Dixon. Don't think. End of.

God, I'm thirsty, and so fucking tired…

The cigarette burn feels good, actually. Helps me not think, like it's always done. Drown out that fucking chorus, that pain, that… I don' know. Just being me. Being Daryl Dixon.

Better get back t'th'others. Who knows what the fuck's happened t'them, t'state we're all in…


	2. Chapter 2

You didn't like the way that conversation went. Fuck conversation. He didn't really say anything. Just evaded, huffing, looked at you sideways, like he used to do, like he wants to see whether you've gotten bored yet, moved on to the next thing. Then he moved away, mumbled about finding water, but really, as you know, just wanting to get as far away as possible. You know how this is gonna go. It's gonna get a lot worse before it has any chance of getting better. You've seen it before.

Usually he'd just go off for a few days. Shoot some possum, clear his head. Stab some walkers. Hell, whatever it is he does out there. Now he can't, now he has to stick close. He hates it, you know that. But he feels compelled to. He'd never leave the group unprotected now, never leave the kids. You don't know what he'd do if something happened to Judith on his watch. You pray you'll never find out.

His watch. That's how he thinks of this. Thinks everyone's safety, everyone's survival, is his responsibility. You used to think that was commendable. Used to be grateful. Now, it scares you shitless.

Cos he forgets to take care of himself. Refuses to let others take care of him, keep him safe. Forgets how much this has to be a group effort, a two-way street to work.

Forgets, and this is just the naked truth, that even if everyone is vigilant 24/7, survival isn't guaranteed. Is often just a lucky coincidence. And that nobody, nobody can guarantee anything anymore.

He doesn't sleep, doesn't eat. He's refused water all day. You know, cos you keep tabs on him. He'd hate it if he knew just how much you see. You watch him, and you know he's suffering. You also understand him well enough to know he won't accept any help. Not now, not when there's not enough of anything. Not now, when so many have died, and he blames himself for every single one of them.

Beth, Tyreese, Sophia. It all started with Sophia. You know his heart still bleeds for the little girl. He thinks nobody knows about the nightmares, the gut-wrenching panic that besets him. But you do know. And you do care.

You wish you could offer some comfort, tell him how grateful you are, how much it means to you, what he does for all of you. How much he means to you, and how that feeling is getting stronger every day. But somehow, the time is never right. Or maybe you are too scared. You don't know any more.

You always have an excuse. Like being too busy surviving. Like the kids are your first priority. Like your feelings for him are as for a brother. But you know how feeble all of these excuses are. Yes, he's family. Yes, busy is not half strong enough a word to describe the last two years. But the truth is, you only managed to survive, be around for the kids this long because of him. You should talk to him as a priority, make sure he knows that you will do anything, _anything_ , to have him in your life, and your kids' lives, for a long time to come.

Now is the right time to talk. It's now that he most needs to hear it all. He's hurting, and it's bad. And you can't bear to see him like this, not now, not when you are so desperate, and you know things will only get worse. He needs you now. He's at the end of his tether, he can't take any more. You owe it to him, to be there for him now, for all that he's done for you.

You've made up your mind. You'll go and talk to him right now, and damn your nerves. Looking round you spot Carl and wave him over.

"Here, take Judith. Stick close to Michonne. I'll be back soon."

You know roughly what direction he disappeared in twenty minutes ago. You scrutinize the underbrush. Not too many ways back to the road if he follows his usual pattern and sticks close. You feel Carol's eyes on you as you move through the group. You give her a small nod and she smiles an encouraging smile. She's probably got an idea what you're planning to do.

You turn into the trees with some apprehension. You'd almost rather take on a herd of undead than getting too close to your hunter when he's hurting.


	3. Chapter 3

I can hear'm before I see him. You'd think he'd get better, having come on hunts with me so much. But he doesn't, somehow. Still crashes through t'woods like a force of nature. Weird, that. Cos in every other way, he's got it down like nobody else, this surviving after t'end of t'world.

I stop, try to look like it's all ok. Not let it show how I feel, cos he likes to scrutinize you, work you out. I don' like it, but I guess he can't help it. It's the cop training, you see. He comes out onto t'path jus' ahead, looks round and stops. He's breathing hard, and he looks done in. This heat, and having hardly any food or water for days, it's really finished us all.

I fight down the urge t'go up t'him, put my head on his shoulder, give him a hug. I wanna do it so bad, wanna tell him it's all ok, it'll be ok soon. Cos he looks so done, like he's ready to give up. I know I am. But we both know we can't. Cos the others need us. Yeah, even me, still. I know that. Not much out here now t'hunt or trap, but if anyone can, it's me. They'll tell me that. The thought don't give me no pleasure.

"Hey."

His voice is cracked, parched. Why did he bother coming after me? Maybe he thinks I'm gonna run off, not come back? That makes me feel sick with shame. Gut reaction. He's still the cop, I'm the villain. Usually I know that's bullshit, but now'm not so sure.

A prickling, aching feeling deep inside my chest. I used t'get this all the time, before. Merle and his gang, they'd jeer, tell me'm scum. I'd knock them on their ass. Or go off and get smashed, jus' so tha' feeling would stop. Don't do that no more. Not true. I did it, and Beth got snatched from me. 'M really no better than I was, back w'Merle.

Now I can't get away, just have t'endure that look, and that feeling in my chest. Gotta let him do his talking, say his piece. He won't leave me be unless he does that first, I know that. That urge t'get away is strong, as it hasn't been since really early on. Maybe it'd be better… but no, I can't leave them. I ain't leaving Lil Asskicker. Jus' thinking about that makes tears well up. Hope he don' see, last thing I need, him thinking I'm a teary-eyed pussy. I look away, swallow down the burning feelin'.

I can taste bile, suddenly, feel the nausea. Sophia… this is how I felt after Sophia, all the time. I couldn't do anything to save her, and I can' do nothing t'save them now, and it makes me sick to m'stomach. He steps closer now, and I can' help flinching away. He stops, looking sad. Damn instincts. Damn Rick. I look at the ground.

"You ok?"

I force a nod, but can' look at him.

"Course, why would I not be?"

I bite down hard on m'lip t'stop the words. Why that tone, why always that tone with Rick? I glance up. He's stopped, just out of reach, hand half raised. Head cocked, like he does when he's not sure. I know he wants to touch, soothe. Like Carol did, jus' a little bit ago. And truth is, I want him to. But I can't let it happen, ever. Makes m'sad, and it's so damn confusing. I retreat another step, can't help it.

"Look man, I just need to know you're ok. I… I wanted to…"

What he wants I don' find out. There's a yell, suddenly, then shouting. He whips round, glances back at me, and together we run towards our people. Our people in danger, again.

The sick feeling in t'pit of my stomach getting worse, I follow him through the trees.


	4. Chapter 4

You lean your head back, feeling dizzy. This latest exertion has taken the last bit of energy reserve you had left. You're ready to give up, you really are. But you know you mustn't. You must be strong, for them all, keep up morale. You need to stay vigilant, too, not let your guard down. Cos every mistake you make could mean the end, could cost any of them their life.

You glance over to where he sits, slightly apart. He looks dejected, beat, just like you feel, just worse. For a split second you feel impatience. You need him to be strong, be there with you all the way. Support you in supporting the rest.

Then you feel selfish, thoughtless, at those emotions. He has every right to be at the end of his strength, more so than any of you, really. Why should he be stronger than any one of you? He's pulled his weight, many times over. You can see the price he's paid for that etched into his face. You feel guilty, and you wish you could say, do, something to let him know that you get it. That he's allowed to show just how much he's done. How much he's hurting.

You don't have that luxury right now, time to make amends, a few moments of alone time. You tried, earlier, and it's no good. You must focus on other things first, and not leave the group on their own, not now. But you swear to yourself to keep closer tabs on him, make sure to put him first sometimes, remind him that taking it slow is not a sign of weakness. You can tell he needs it, won't last much longer otherwise.

He looks over then, and you don't break eye contact as his gaze seeks you out. You think he gets some of what you're thinking. His expression changes, softens. You have a feeling he's close to tears now. And there's something else, something more. A question? Or an answer to yours?

You don't find out because suddenly you hear a snarl, then another. Your head whips round, you scan the trees. It's not walkers this time, it's a pack of feral dogs.


	5. Chapter 5

'm so tired. I don't think I've ever been this tired in m'life. Not hungry now. T'be honest, the dog meat's made me feel real sick. Jus' one more misery t'add to the growing list. Saliva collects at the back of my mouth. I try t'swallow it down, but it's like my throat's blocked. I don't know if I can hide this much longer.

And my thoughts return to Beth, like they've got a mind of their own. It's jus' like after Sophia died, this. I tried so hard to keep her safe. Beth, I mean. Never not even got a chance w'Sophia. It's all I thought about, keeping her safe, out there, alone after t'prison, jus' her and me. Or maybe it wasn't all I thought about. If I'd trie' harder she'd still be alive.

Maybe Rick gets it, how I feel. How I can hardly keep it in any more. He looked at me, earlier'n we were resting, jus' before the dogs. He looked a'me like he wanted t'say somethin', wanted me t'know what he was thinkin'. Or maybe I imagined it, I don' know. Cos the dogs came, an' that's all we've been thinking 'bout since.

I don' imagine anyone enjoyed eatin'em, but it's weird that the meat's made me feel so bad. 've had much worse. Somehow it's really drivin' home how bad things are. Reminds me of all t'things that have happened. Of eating the snake with Beth. And, why tho, of Rick and I burying t'walker tha' ate Lori.

And I know I'm gonna throw up, 'n soon. I sort of turn towards whoever's walking next to me. Might be Abe.

"Tell 'em 'm looking f' water."

I walk off quickly without checking he even heard me. I jus' wanna be out of sight so they don't know, don't think I need their sympathy. Cos I don't. I deserve this.

I make it a dozen yards into the trees before I've used up t'willpower. My knees feel real weak all of a sudden, and I can' carry on. I throw out a hand and catch myself agains' a tree, an' t'world turns inside out.

It's as awful as I remember. I hate puking, always've. Merle used t'laugh at me, for being such a baby about it.

It burns something fierce, this time, an't really hurts. My stomach's all in knots, like it can' wait t'be rid of th'dog. The thought of t'taste and smell of t'charred meat makes me gag more. For a long time I can' even breathe, and there's lights flashing, and 'm not sure I won' pass out. Finally, I jus' give in and slump to t'ground, not caring even where I land and whether I get puke all over m'pants.

Finally 't seems there's nothing left, and I lean back, gulping air. I wipe at my eyes cos I can hardly see, tears are makin' ever'tin blurry. Can't afford not t'be able t'see, not in this world.

An' I feel so guilty. We had to eat t'dogs, we have t'stay alive. Rick urged me t'eat, an' he was right. Now I have let him down again. If I want t'stay with them I need t'be able t'help them, be strong. I can't let this sorta thing happen. But it's not always in m' control. I couldn' control it after Sophia. It'd just grip me, and I'd end up like this, or hunched over in a field somewhere, retching, puking m' guts out. Not every day, but enough to make me weak, to make me worry they'd find out. He'd find out.

It went away after a while. I don' think anyone ever noticed. I didn' mention it t'anyone. What's the point? I guess going back t'the blades helped. Is that better, though, cutting til it won't stop bleeding? I don' know. I can' do it too much now anyway, there are too many eyes watching, too many people ev'ry time we stop fo' rest.

I sure wish I could, tho. I wish I could punish m'self, make those guilty voices stop. But it's no good. We firs' need to get through this.

As much as I jus' wanna sit here, or run away and hide, it's not really my call. There's people who need me, as hard as that's t'believe. Need Rick, so we better function, not let them down.

When I haul myself back up, all clumsy and light-headed, I see a barn through t'trees. Weird place for it. Then I glimpse at the sky, which is rapidly filling with dark, angry clouds. A wind picks up then and pulls on my clothes, makes t'trees sway. Looks like we might need shelter, an' soon. I look at the barn again then hurry off to t'others, to help get them t'safety, if necessary.


	6. Chapter 6

You look over to where he paces, like a trapped animal. You want to go and take him in your arms, just hold him. Cos he needs it, he needs to calm down. He's really done now, you can tell. When he came back from his last foray he looked so awful, like he was going to pass out, right then and there.

You were going to tell him to slow down, take a breather. You were going to tell them all to stop for the night, mainly because he looked so bad. Tell them all to move away from the road a few yards, away from the water someone had left there – as a trap? You didn't know. You were going to figure it out, but you'd decided it could wait until morning. Rest had to come first, and quickly.

Then the storm hit and he saved you all again.

Everyone's settling down now, everyone but him. You made him angry, and you're not sure how, or why. But you know he feels trapped. He wants to be away. You want nothing more than for him to settle down, catch some sleep. He looks so exhausted, so ill. You're sure he'll fall out, and soon. Then what?

You get up and approach him, even though you're worried what he'll do.

"Daryl."

He startles, like he's forgotten you're even there, in the barn with him. He looks at you, and you don't think he even knows where he is, or who you are.

"Come over to the fire. It's late, you need to rest. We all do. This if far from over, we'll need our strength… C'mon…"

But he shakes his head, backs away. Retreats all the way into the shadows by the barn doors.

You don't follow. You know it's no use. He won't do what he doesn't want to do. And right now, he doesn't want to be anywhere near you.


	7. Chapter 7

"Hold still, will you?"

His voice startles me. 'm so tired, can't pay attention t'anything for more than a few moments at a time. I try t'focus on what's right in front of me, but it's real difficult. He's gripping m'arm hard enough t'hurt now, and I can finally feel it. He looks at me, exasperated but worried. His eyes are so blue, even now I can' help but notice how beautiful they are. Sad and beautiful.

Dixon, get a grip!

I look down instead, and immediately wish I hadn't. There's a big gash on m' forearm, and his hand that's holding me is red wi' blood. The familiar taste of bile at the back of m' throat shakes me back t'reality, and I can't suppress a groan as the nausea surges. If there was anything at all left t'come up I'm sure I'd be puking now. As it is I jus' avert my head, close m' eyes.

"Daryl, what's the matter? Does it hurt?"

His tone is really worried now. I shake m' head, can actually feel mys'f shakin' all over. He's finishing off quickly. I can feel bandages tightening round m' arm. This really hurts. Good. I can' help but groan again. He doesn't let go of m' arm for a while longer. His grip is less vice-like now, I can almost feel his fingers soothe gentle circles against m' wrist. I mus' be hallucinating.

There's a tap agains' m' leg an' he lets go of m' arm. I squint down.

"Drink."

He's tapping a water bottle against m' knee. I start t'shake m' head, but his hand suddenly clamps down on m' wris' again, not gentle now. Startled, I look up. His eyes are two dark pools now in t'firelight. He looks fuzzy round the edges. M' head feels fuzzy too. Man, 'm so exhausted. I can hardly focus as he speaks 'gain.

"Daryl, this is no request. Drink the water, you've lost quite a bit of blood. Then lie down, sleep. Crisis is over for now. You're done in, if you don't get some rest you'll be a liability. We can't have that, understand?"

M' eyes have slid off his face. I find I can' look at'm now. I feel sick wi' shame. He's not havin' it though. His grip tightens further, until I hiss wi' t'pain of it. When I look back up he doesn' look exactly mad, but I c'n tell he's had enough.


	8. Chapter 8

"Do as I say. Understood?"

Your voice is harsher than you meant it to be, but it has the desired effect. He nods, takes the bottle from you. Unscrews the cap. You can see his hands shaking, and the feeling of worry in the pit of your stomach intensifies. He was done in before the storm hit, now he's much, much worse.

Trying to save them all again single-handedly hasn't helped, and neither has that injury. The cut is deep enough to require stitches, you're pretty sure. But really, even if you had any equipment nobody could do it. Or maybe Daryl could, but not on himself, not right now. Moot point, with no needle or thread. The other thought, of infection, of the dirt covering you all getting into the wound, also plays heavily on your mind.

You look at his pale face as he drinks a few sips of water, and suddenly all you want to do is put your arms around him, soothe away the worry lines on his forehead and hold him until you both drift off to sleep.

Instead you watch as he shrugs off his vest, winces as it catches on the makeshift bandage. He curls up on his side, back to the rest of the group. He glances at you once, expression on his face unreadable, gaze feverish, exhausted. Then he closes his eyes and relaxes into sleep within seconds. At least that worked as planned.

You sigh, get up and rejoin Carl near the fire. As you stretch out next to your kids your mind returns to the incident by this very fire earlier. He'd gotten upset at what you said, about all of you being the walking dead. You wonder why, exactly. All you meant was that everyone has to find a way to deal with this situation, be realistic to get through it.

But he took it differently. You're not sure how, exactly, but it upset him, a lot. Maybe thinking of walking dead made him remember again all those who died. Maybe he just can't reconcile himself to the fact that neither he nor anybody will be able to save every single one of you. He's struggling with that a lot, you know. And there's not much you can do to help. In fact, for now you're all out of ideas on how to help him.

Judith starts to fuss in Carl's arms. You take the baby and rock both of you gently until she quietens down again. You're reluctant to sleep, you want to keep an eye on them all. But you know you have to get some rest, too, or you'll be the next one to drop. With a sigh you close your eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

Where t'fuck are they?

I open t'door again, peer through. Nothin'. I was sure I heard a noise. We've been here'n hour at least. Eric, he insists we stay.

"They'll come here. Aaron knows this hideout, we've been here before. They'll have seen the flare. If they can, they'll come here."

What if they can't? What if somethin's happened? I should be ou'there, looking. But Carl and Judith're here, I know Rick would put'em first. Would want me t'put them first, no matter wha's going on wi'him. So I stay.

I don' even know I'm pacing til I see Maggie, the look she gives me. So I stop, retreat back to the door, try t'listen. For a car. For people on foot. For walkers.

T'tension makes me feel more sick'n the antibiotics Eric made me take when t'others told him bout m'arm. T'pills didn't stay down, came back up almost right away. I stayed behind in t'street while the others got Eric inside. All during t'ride I'd felt my body fighting t'keep a grip, but in the end it lost the battle. I know I need t'ask Eric for another dose, an' soon. My arm hurts, and the skin feels hot and tight. My whole body aches and I can tell I've got a fever. But that's not important, not right now. We need Rick back, tha's the most urgent problem.

There! Was that a car? I step through t'door, but t'alley's deserted. My heart hammers hard in m' chest, the tension makes me light-headed. Where are they?!

I can feel the nausea surging again, m'stomach cramp painfully. I slump against the wall by t'door, hunched up, just trying t'breathe through it, make the feeling pass as quickly as possible. M'arm hurts a lot now. I don' need t'look at it t'know tha blood's soaked through the new bandage Maggie put on in the RV. T'thought of blood makes me feel even worse. I hold the arm against m'chest with t'other hand, hoping the throbbing will go away if I don' let it hang down. I can feel t'heat from the skin around the wound hot against my chest, even through t'shirt and bandages.

For a moment I don' even care that the dizziness makes the world sway, makes it all blurry. Wha' of it, if I pass out right here, an' the walkers get me? So what? At least then I won' feel like this anymore. A failure, a loser who can' keep his family safe.

The night air is cold an' makes m'teeth chatter. I don' wanna go back inside. With every moment he's missing my anxiety grows, an' I can't even think about being in there with them all, their eyes on me as I try an' hide how much I worry, how much it all fuckin' hurts.

What if he never comes back? What if something _did_ happen to'em? How can I go on? Look after his kids? Be withou' him… Gods, I feel sick…

There… that's people runnin', 'm sure. I can hear someone whistlin'. I push myself off the wall, step out into t'moonlight, wave. He's right there, he's seen me. Suddenly, nothing hurts, my heart's light.

"Rick, over here!"


	10. Chapter 10

You wish that'd gone differently. You don't like being the bad cop, the one who frightens people. But you've learned to be hard. Hurt them first, ask questions later. You don't have to like it. Just do it, and keep your family safe. You wouldn't have hurt Aaron, not really, but it's good that Glenn stepped up. Now they can remain wary of you, wonder what you're willing to do.

Now all you want it sleep, but it's not to be, not yet. Something else needs your attention first. He needs you…

You glance at the group where they are settling down for the night. You carry on further into the gloomy warehouse, to where you can make out an indistinct shadow against the far wall. Why does he keep doing this, retreat from everyone? You suppress your irritation. You know why he does it. He's hurting, now he's also sick, and like a wounded animal he seeks solitude, peace to lick his wounds. That that's not really helping is a different matter, and not one so easily solved.

At least he's stayed indoors. When you and the others finally found the rest he was out there, shivering. Clearly he'd waited for you, but he was so reluctant to follow you inside you were immediately suspicious that something else was going on.

You crouch down on the floor next to him. He's not looking at you, just stares blankly ahead. You glance sideways, at his pale face, his taut features. Close to you can see a thin sheen of sweat glisten on his forehead, like he's running a temperature. You can tell he's still shivering, too, even though it's not cold in the warehouse. He's cradling his injured arm against his chest. Looks like it hurts him quite a bit now. But that's not all of it, is it?

You don't want to get his back up again, but there's no real choice, you need a few questions answered or you can't help.

"I know something's not right, Daryl. I'm tired, I don't want to have to work so hard and wrestle it from you. Can you just tell me what it is?"

He flinches, like you lashed out at him. You feel sorry for the effect your words have, but it's the truth. You're too exhausted to play games.

He doesn't answer, not right away. He leans his head back, rests it against the wall. Closes his eyes. You think you can see tears glisten against his lashes. Then the hand of his uninjured arm comes up and presses down on his stomach. You see his throat move as he dry swallows, trying to breathe through this. And you suddenly know what it is.

"You feel sick?"

He nods, head still against the wall, eyes stay closed. The anxiety in the pit of your stomach intensifies. He cradles the hurt arm closer, hisses. You knew this would happen, the cut's gotten infected.

"We need to get you some antibiotics, and pronto."

"They have some, in the RV. That's what made m'sick. Couldn' keep 'em down…"

"You need to take some more, then. Eat something with them, too. I'll talk to Aaron."

You start getting up.

"Rick…"

You stop halfway. He looks at you now, properly for the first time in ages. His eyes are full of pain, and it's not just the arm, or the nausea.

"'m sorry. I keep messing stuff up… I'm trying… but it's so hard…"

You reach out without thinking, touch his face lightly with the tips of your fingers.

"It's not you, Daryl. I'm the one who needs to be sorry. This is on me, I keep messing things up…"

He looks like he wants to shake his head, but you don't let him. You hold his face, until he looks at you again.

"We'll work this out, promise. Just hang tight. We're almost safe, we'll figure it out together, alright?"

You wait for his reluctant nod. He looks away again then, and you turn, walk back towards the others.

You just hope you're right with that promise.


	11. Chapter 11

It's very dark, and very late. You sit in the window, just where he sat earlier, watching the quiet street, and your group sleeping at your feet. The knife you got from the kitchen is in your hand, and its solid weight is comforting. You're really not sure what to make of it all. This day has brought so many changes, and while they all dangle golden promises in front of you something tells you this will not be a magic solution, fixing everything that was wrong about your life out there.

On the one hand, you understand why Michonne wants this place to work out so desperately. On the other, Carol's reservations are much closer to your own sentiments right now. Only time will tell whether Alexandria is too good a dream to be true, you know that. Still, the quiet and apparent safety are enough to keep you awake when you could really do with a rest.

You scan the room. Everyone else's sleep seems untroubled, for a change, and you are glad. Even Daryl, who lies closest to your vantage point (no use in hiding from yourself that that's why you chose this space for your vigil) is deeply, peacefully asleep. You let your eyes rest on his relaxed features.

He looks much younger in his sleep, you've noticed that before. His face is less pale now, and the fever seems to be on the way out. You saw to it that he took his antibiotics, and had some food, even though treating a grown man the same way you'd treat your own son was uncomfortable for you both. Daryl acquiesced to it all without much resentment, though. You think that he probably didn't have the strength to argue any more.

He even went to see the resident doctor without a fuss, a guy called Pete, who cleaned and rebandaged the wound on his arm.

"He says it's too late f'stitches, but it'll heal ok if I let it."

You have every intention to make sure he lets it heal.

Later, you got a small glimpse of Pete yourself when you walked around the neighborhood again. While you're grateful that he looked after Daryl there's something about the guy ringing all your alarm bells. You try and shrug it off. It's probably just the exhaustion.

What you are really interested in, now that Daryl is on the mend, is to find out where he'll land in terms of this new place. You have a feeling that despite his current compliance the hunter is less than delighted with the prospect of playing house in this gated community. For one thing, he's the only one who didn't jump at the chance to shower.

You saw the others giving him looks for that, but you are actually kinda glad. He's not so easily bribed as that, won't just abandon caution cos there's no walkers snarling up your ass every five minutes. You have a feeling he's willing to make a go at it, but that it won't be for his own sake.

You sigh at this last thought. Will there ever be anything, now, that he'll want to do just to please himself? And would that even involve the group? Involve your kids? Involve you?

You sincerely hope so.


	12. Chapter 12

"Deanna said explore."

He looks real good, all shaved, new clothes, an' he looks at me in such'way that I jus' wanna get up an' go t'him, be close. Take his hand, lead him away somewhere. Be alone wit'him, and yes, explore. Instead, I jus' shake m'head.

"Nah. I'll stay."

He nods, but doesn' move, doesn' look away. His eyes look me all over, until I feel like squirmin'. He does that sometimes, look at you til you feel he knows all ya secrets. I'm almos' ready t'say something else, jus' to make him stop looking, but then he speaks.

"Feeling better?"

I nod. It's true. Once the second lot of antibiotics stayed down I started feelin' better. An' Pete might be a creep but he made m'arm hurt less straight away. It hardly hurts at all, now.

"You slept ok."

Tha's not a question. I look at him more closely, an' again have t'fight the urge to get up an' go t'him. Now all I wan' is take him back inside and put him to bed, though. He looks hardly less tired than he has t'last few weeks, even all cleaned up like. Again, I don' move. But I do try an' let 'im know with a look that I can tell he's not so good yet.

"You didn', did'y?"

He looks away, squints into t'distance. Rubs his eyes in tha' way I've seen a thousand times or more. He's done, exhausted. He needs t'rest. I wonder if he'll ever get t' tho. His position is so difficult, no matter here or out there.

"No, I didn't. Too… I don't know, weird? Too quiet…"

"Yeah, I know wha' y'mean."

I wasn't really in any state t'notice it las' night but I've been thinkin' it ever since I woke up. It's spooky quiet. And the people I've seen… they look totally oblivious to what's goin' on out there. To wha' we've seen, done.

I don't like it. It's not jus' that I can' let another bunch o'people get close, just to lose them again after a minute, though that thought makes me feel proper sick again right away. 's also t'thought tha' this is a trap. It's too easy t'become like them, forget what it was like ou' there. And then, when this ends, which I'm sure it will cos nothing good ever lasts now, we'll have forgotten how t'survive. The thought scares the crap outta me.

And there's another thing. I just can' figure out how I'll fit in here. What will they need me for? Why keep me around if we don' need t'hunt t'eat, and don' need t'kill walkers every few seconds? And t'thought that scares me t'most and that's been on m'mind since I work up: He won' need me around now. What'll keep him from just walkin' away, find someone else, someone easier t'be round, when we haven' even had a chance t'be somethin' yet?

He's moving towards the veranda steps now. I don' know what makes me speak, maybe the fear tha's coursing through me, tha's making m'feel sick again.

"Rick…"

"Hmm?"

He looks back at me, really looks, and I'm glad now that he does. He's not distracted. Maybe he's not as keen to "explore" this place as he makes out? Suddenly I feel a bi' more hopeful.

"We gotta remember. What it's like out there… This place, 't'll slow us down…"

I know 'm not so good at saying these things, but he usually gets me, when it counts. He takes a few steps towards me, an' for a moment I think he'll come all the way. But then he stops. He still looks at me, though, with that look that doesn' let go.

"We won't, Daryl. Nothing will change. We are still who we are, and nothing comes before that, all right?"

I force a nod. He looks satisfied, and with a small wave finally descends the steps down t'the pavement. I watch him go, an' wish I was as certain as he.


	13. Chapter 13

The blood coursing through m'ears is noisy. I hold him down, snarling, ready t'punch if he tries anythin'. I don't know exactly what happened, why this man is on the ground in front of me. The sense of a threat, of danger, is strong. I felt better this mornin', less out of it, and m'arm hurt less. But now the nausea is back, and m'arm is throbbing again. I sway, almost lose m'grip on the guy.

Then his arms are around me, he grounds me, holds tight, holds me up. His breath is warm on my neck, I can feel him so completely, like time's stopped, like it's jus' us. Like the guy I'm holdin' down and who is struggling to breathe in my grip isn' even there.

"Let's not do this now. Daryl… C'mon…"

And I listen t'him. Let him pull me away, stand m'back on m'feet. Let him put himself between these people an' me. My pulse slows down, I catch m'breath. I can hear again, and see t'others, and it all comes back. Why I tackled this guy whose name I don' remember. He went out w' Glenn an' Noah, an' that other guy from Alexandria. They had a fight, Glenn knocked one of 'em down, I took t'other on.

I pace. Still out of breath a little, still ready t'attack if I have t'. These aren' good people. They are weak, lazy, stupid, hidin' here behind them walls.

Rick's in front of me. He fixes me wi' his stare, arms outstretched til I slow down properly. His eyes tell me no, not now. Not like this.

Then the woman, Deanna, speaks. She sends her two guys 'way, makes a big speech bout how we all belong there now, behin' her walls. As if…

Then she looks at Rick.

"I told you, I have a job for you. I want you to be our constable. That's what you were. That's what you are."

She looks at Michonne next, who must have arrived when I wasn' payin' attention.

"And you, too… Will you accept?"

Michonne nods. "Yeah, I'm in."

Deanna glances back at Rick. I can' believe this. Surely he won' jus' say yes. The thought that he'll jus' do whatever these people ask makes me feel sick again.

"Ok."

I look at him, can' believe it. Suddenly I notice how much my arm hurts. I look down, there's blood on t'bandages again. I can taste bile at the back of my throat, and wonder how long I have til it's so bad I can' keep from puking.

've had enough. I snatch up m'crossbow, give Rick a glance that I hope shows him how disgusted 'm bein', and walk away.

Let Rick handle this on his own, if he's s'keen.


	14. Chapter 14

"We good?"

You can see him lurking in the shadows, pulling on a cigarette. Now he steps into the light filtering through the screen door behind you.

"Sure."

His face is pale again, and he looks shaky and exhausted. That fight at the gate was definitely a bit much. He's usually so strong, it's easy for him, and everyone else, to forget just how much he's been through recently.

"You ok? You don't really look it…"

He turns his face away, doesn't say anything for a long time. You try not to be impatient. He is clearly still grappling with what happened. He shifts uneasily from one foot onto the other, and you know he's fighting the urge to bolt.

Finally, his body half turned away as he's not done in a long time, he speaks. It's so mumbled and so quiet you have to strain to hear. If he were Carl you'd tell him to speak up. But he's not your son. He's the man that you feel drawn to more than any other person in a long time, faults and hang-ups and all.

"'s those pills. Make me feel awful. An' that fight… 'twas jus' too much…"

In explanation he lifts his bandaged arm. You can see half-dried blood staining the fresh white reddish-brown. He seems to read your mind.

"'s all right. 's not bleedin' now."

You disagree with the assessment that it's all right, but you decide to let that one go. But you gotta ask this.

"Did you throw up?"

He nods, but preempts you again.

"'ve taken some more pills, don' worry. 'm no idiot…"

"I know you're not. Daryl…"

"Listen," he interrupts, and looks suddenly pained. Like he has something to say but isn't quite sure how.

"I wanna try this, here. Make a go at stayin'. But I dunno, d'you? Really, I mean? I know y'said, y'gonna be their constable…"

He trails off. Stops his fidgeting too, for the moment. You know he's doing his best. Trying hard to ask the right thing, talk about the stuff he's scared of.

You move a bit closer then, but stay far enough away not to make his nervousness kick in again. Close enough so he can hear you, though, when you quietly ask the question he can't ask.

"You want to know if we're in this together?"

He hesitates, unsure he's heard you right. Then he nods. You continue, even more quietly.

"We are, Daryl."

You've made a decision. All this here? You're not sure you can handle it, live with these people. They are weak. You're not sure you even wanna try. But you know you got to. For the kids. For your family. For him, too. Cos while you knew all along he doesn't much care for this, is feeling trapped already, he needs it. You can see it on his face now. He needs a break. Needs to be able to relax some, heal. Get over the loss, the exhaustion. The injuries, the sleep deprivation.

And you know the same is true for you. You need this as much as he does. And there's something else you need, and now is the time to try and get it, finally.

You step close, but slowly. He looks wary, narrows his eyes, and you think of wild animals, trapped. But he doesn't back away, and you take that as a good sign.

Before you speak again you just look at him for a while, and you make that look count. Let him read you, let him see some of what's been going on in your mind. Let him relax into this new situation, give him as much time as he needs. And you take your time too. It's unfamiliar territory for you both, after all. So close for too long, but you've never done this. God knows you wanted to, and now you don't remember why it's taken all this time to get here.

You study his face, still pale, still drawn. Dark circles under his eyes still too prominent. Lines etched where you could swear there were none just a couple days ago.

You raise your hand, hold it still where he can see it. He doesn't flinch, his eyes stay locked with yours. Your hand comes up all the way and you push some strands of hair off his face. Then you place your fingers against his cheekbone, gently. No pressure, he can pull away if he wants to. He doesn't. He tilts his head towards your hand, closes his eyes at the touch.

You cross the gap between you, bring your bodies together. Lean in and kiss him gently just as his eyes open again. For a moment you are sure you miscalculated, cos he doesn't move. You are about to pull away as he comes to life, presses close, responds to the kiss eagerly.

This feels good. This feels right. You can feel him tremble against you, and you know you're not alone with that thought. But then he pulls away, steps back, face suddenly flushed.

"This ain't right, Rick. 'm all dirty. Lemme go shower, if you… if you want this? Really wan'… us?"

He looks at you pleadingly and your amusement that has started to bubble up at the thought that he thinks you care about whether he's showered or not makes way for a somber realization. He's not worried about whether or not you want him to clean up, but whether you really want _him_.

You look at him, then reach out again and thread your hand into his hair, place it around the back of his neck, before he can even think about flinching away. You make sure his eyes are steadily on you before you speak.

"Daryl, I should have done this a year ago. It would have saved you so much pain. I'm sorry I kept chickening out. I want this… I want _you_ more than you could ever know. I need you. I need you by my side, now, forever. Please…"

And you have to stop cos your throat is closing up. You see his gaze change, from panic and fear of rejection to wonderment, to affection. He puts his hand against your chest, looks down at it for a moment. Then he looks up, and now his eyes are full of pure desire.

"Y'room? Fifteen minutes?"

"Ok."

And he's disappeared into the house before you can even draw breath.


	15. Chapter 15

He's t'mos' gentle anyone's ever been wi'me. Sounds corny, but it's jus' t'truth.

A quick grope in an alleyway, blowjob in a sleazy bar's bathroom, tha's been m'encounters so far. I haven' even stayed over at anyone's place before.

So this, this is new. And nice, even in this unfamiliar house, this bedroom tha's not anyone's, no' yet.

He's waited f'me, actually looks nervous when I come in from t'shower. I think he was pacing, jus' before I opened the door. I feel a bit sheepish, standing there barefoot, hair wet. It's an unfamiliar feeling, bein' so clean. I don' really know why I didn' shower before. No real reason, I don' think. Just didn' feel like something at t'top of t'list.

He smiles as he steps close, an' I try to smile back. This all feels real unfamiliar, but I'm aching for it, too. I want him t'touch me, I want t'feel him. I need this now, I've needed this f'a long time. But I'm so fuckin' nervous. He's got much more experience, I know he does. Fuck, a 12-year-old has more experience wi' people than me.

Suddenly, or so it feels, he's real close, and my back's against t'door. I don't mind one bit, that he's in m'space. Then his mouth is on mine, and I jus' forget everything f'a bit. It's as nice as I imagined it. He tastes, smells, feels jus' so right. His face is smooth, and that's different from what I imagined. Cos I used t'imagine it often, this moment. But in my fantasy, we were out in t'woods, agains' a tree somewhere, or by t'side of the road. One ear out fo'walkers, or for t'others. Now it's jus' us, an' finally, for t'first time since we got here, I feel I can relax.

He presses close, an' I can feel him, feel him against m'leg, through all th'clothes. And I feel m'body respond. It's almost painful, an' I want all those layers gone. M'hands come up and tug at his tee, which he quickly pulls off. I start on his pants buttons while he's busy with m'shirt.

But suddenly I can' go on. He's never seen m'scars. I'm so used t'hiding scars I hardly notice it now. There are the ones on my back of course, which pa left t'remind me I'm scum. But there's also the ones on my thighs, and m'stomach, some on m'ankles. I made those myself, and sometimes I think they're there to remind me not t'forget what pa did. These ones're mostly faded now, but I know he'll know wha'they mean.

He notices, pulls away. And looks at me, all worried like. Makes m'heart ache, makes me ache for him. I want this, so much, but it's hard t'go against this instinct, when you're so used t'being frightened of it all y'life.

"What is it, Daryl?"

I hesitate, try t'think of a solution. How can we have this, without m'feelin' so awful? He would probably have ideas, but I want t'be able to sort m'own shit, even if only sometimes. I decide t'be as honest as I can.

"'s my… my back, I don't… Can we turn t'lights off?"

He doesn't hesitate. I see him look a little sad, but like he's sad for me. He gets it. I don' know how he does it, but somehow he always gets me, when it's important. He reaches over and flicks the light switch.

There's enough moonlight, and some lighting off t'other houses on the street, that we can still see well enough. I relax immediately. It's not even that I don' want him t'know, I realize. I jus' want t'not have t'think, or talk about it jus' yet. And for now we don'' have to.

He's so close, but suddenly that's no longer enough. Now I crowd in, push him back. Kiss him, hungrily, but with enough slowness t'make it last, make us last. We're in no rush, there's nowhere we have t'be right now, or in an hour, or even four. This thought is so great I have t'laugh a bit, I can' help it. He seems t'agree wi' my thoughts, I can feel him smile. Then he pulls me even closer. Gives himself over t'this, t'me. He's all there. In this moment, with me. Jus' me, no divided attention, no obligation, and I can' hardly believe I'm not dreamin'.

I feel his hand on m'neck, threading into my hair, strokin' skin that's still damp. His other hand is on m'back, but it stays on top of m'shirt, an' I'm grateful. He pulls me close, and again I feel him agains' me, and suddenly there's urgency. I need t'feel him more, need t'have skin agains' skin. Have him inside me, have him fuck me. Jus' have him, for me.

Maybe he reads minds, cos next moment his hands are busy with m'pants and I can feel them slide down over m'hips before I even quite know he's managed to undo the buttons. His hands travel back up an' I can feel them push aside the waistband of m'underwear.

I lose track of things as he takes me in one hand an' starts to stroke, gently at first, then faster, harder. I have t'stop him quickly or he'd just bring me, finish me, before we're even halfway done.

"No, not jus' that…"

My voice sounds rough in m'own ears, like I haven' talked in days. Weird, that. This place seems nothin' but talk. I put a hand between us, cup him through his pants and he hisses as I let m'fingers tighten, rub through the material. I lean in, place m'forehead against his shoulder. I feel suddenly dizzy, jus' need t'take a moment to let it all sink in. When it does, when it feels real, I know I've made m'decision. I want this man an', if he'll have me, I want t'be his, all t'way, in every way. I lift m'head, try and see him well enough t'read him as I speak.

"Fuck me, Rick. Fuck me hard."

He looks at me for a long moment, breathing fast as I keep strokin' him.

"You want me to."

It's not a question, but I nod all t'same.

"More'n anything."

So he leads me the rest of the way over to t'bed, and does as I asked him to.

It's the kind of night tha' sticks in y'mind forever. The kinds of moments tha' remain wi' you an' that return to t'surface again an' again. The kind that, when thing're terrible, and painful, will give you t'strength t'make it to t'other side.

His hands on m'body, how they push away m'clothes.

The feeling of cool, new sheets against m'too hot skin.

His shadow, looming large right there between m'legs.

The feelin' of his fingers, so strong and sure in the almost darkness. Probin', testin'.

M'heart beatin', blood pulsing, at the sensation of him enterin' me f'the firs' time.

The ecstasy of t'slow movement, t'stimulation tha's almost painful but never quite.

My body respondin', accommodatin', relaxin' around'im.

Him, above me. Him, leanin' in. Him, kissin' me. Him, looking, scanning, watching me as'm close, edging, tippin' over.

Him, there, right wi' me.

Curled agains' his chest later, his arms round me. Feelin' safe, feelin' whole for t'first time in god knows how long.

Listenin' t'him breathe. Feelin' his heartbeat, slow, regular, calming me. Knowin' that this is it, this is right, an' holding that thought so, so close as I drop off t'sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

Will this thing never end? You feel like you've been here for hours, when in reality it's maybe been thirty minutes since you arrived with Carl and Judith. However long it might have been, you've had enough. And Deanna, she's starting to work your nerves. You feel she's trying to woo you, get you on her side. You're still not sure any of this is a good idea. In fact, after the first few days on the job, and the things you've been told by Abe about what he witnessed today on the construction site, you are more convinced than ever that these people are a liability, and very little else.

You are trying to hold back judgement, though. You still stand by your conviction, which you shared yesterday with Daryl and Carol: You'll try and make this work, and if it doesn't then your group will take this place. You're glancing at your watch. Carol is currently busy sneaking guns out of the storage locker. You almost wish you were the one doing it. Would be more exciting at least than this silly party.

Deanna's husband is trying to catch your eye but you quickly move sideways, try and find someone to talk to. You stand with Glenn and Maggie and let Reg find someone else to bore to death. He's harmless, but he grates. They all do. None of them have any idea what the world is really like now. They talk about food shortage as if it's merely an inconvenience. None of them have seriously had to worry about starving, or see their family go hungry for days, their children so thirsty their lips crack. How will you and your group ever be able to relate to these people?

And where's Daryl? You haven't seen him all day. You woke up to him still sleeping, and you left him there, in your bed. Your bed as in both of yours, cos that's what it already is, in your mind, and you think in his, too. Your room, your bed, that you hope to go back to very soon. And you're more glad than you can express that he seems to feel the same. When you returned to the house late the previous night, after your first proper day as constable (and wasn't that just weird, and felt all wrong, wearing uniform again) he was waiting for you in the living room.

Wordlessly he'd gone over to the staircase and started climbing, and you followed. You know he waited for you to show you where his head is at, that he's fully with you, wants to make a go of this between the two of you, even if he can't say it in so many words.

Your brain has been giving you flashbacks to last night all day long. You can still feel him curled up against you every time you close your eyes for a moment. Sleep has been more restful with him there, in your arms, than you've had in months. He scooted really close last night, his body pressed against yours to such a degree you didn't think you'd be able to sleep at all. But miraculously, it had had the opposite effect, and you woke up in almost the same position you'd fallen asleep in, Daryl in your arms.

You know that's unlikely to continue, him being such a deep sleeper, such a soothing presence. Right now, while he's healing, recovering from the ordeal of the last few months, his body demands the extended periods of rest. But you know that when he's well he's usually up before everyone else, capable of doing a whole day's work before anyone else has even thought of the first cup of coffee.

But you wonder now, as so often recently, whether he wasn't like that because he thought it was expected of him out there, not because it's naturally his inclination. You are determined to make sure that now you have the chance to give him what he needs, what he enjoys, he'll feel less and less that all the heavy lifting is expected of him. And you realize, with a small rueful grin you hope nobody has seen, that your irritation at the fact that he's not here tonight is already in breach of that promise you just made.

As you scan the room again, looking from one little cluster of your people to the next, you notice Jessie and her family have just arrived. You remember the brief conversation you had with her that afternoon, and how her behavior – nervous, cautious, very deliberate in her way of speaking – has done nothing to improve your opinion of her husband Pete. You feel that the way she's been should remind you of something, and that feeling oddly grows stronger as you spot Carol reemerging into the room. She nods at you. Good, she got the guns.

You force a smile now as Jessie approaches with her family. She makes entirely unnecessary introductions and you take Pete and their boys in at a glance. Truth is, though, that you are really only half paying attention now. The fact that Carol has fulfilled her mission means that you are no longer required to distract your hostess if necessary. You are now free to slip away, and you want nothing more desperately now than quit this party, go home, and be with your man.


	17. Chapter 17

"Where were you? Why didn't you show at Deanna's?"

I can tell righ'away he's mad. I freeze, back t'the room and t'him, doorknob in one hand. I was actually lookin' forward t'getting home, and wasn't that an unfamiliar feeling? Now all I feel is fear, deep down in m'gut. I let the door fall shut.

When I move into t'living room I can' bring myself t'look at him. I don' understand this. Why would'e be mad? And why can' I just deal wi'it? Tell him what goes on inside m'head when he talks t'me this way. Instead I'm always like this, can' look at him, can' find the words. It's like I've forgotten how t'speak. Always has been, when people get like that wi'me. This, or attack. Hit them til they're on t'ground, not movin'. I haven' done that in years. I didn' wanna be tha' man, the one who hits first, asks questions later, if at'll. Fought hard not t'be pa, or Merle.

But words can hurt, too. I've not found out how t'make that work, but people use it on me, a lot. I realize I'm cradling my hurt arm to m'chest again. It had stopped aching, while I was at Aaron's, but now the familiar throbbin' and stingin' is back. Dealing with t'walkers today when we went fo' that horse must've torn somethin' loose'gain. It's not bleedin', but it's damn uncomfortable. And thinking of t'horse makes me feel sad again, too. We shoulda left him be. Now he's jus' another creature I couldn' save.

I can see him out t'corner of m'eye, and he looks impatient. He does that lots, too. Looking impatient with me, or disappointed. He hides it, usually, or tries t'. Or fights it down. I can tell he's trying now. He rubs his eyes wi'one hand. I've yet t'say a word.

When I imagined our evening earlier, at this point we'd already be upstairs, getting' ready for bed, or, if he was as keen as I, halfway t'another night of explorin' each other. I'd hoped for the latter, and I still do. After today I feel lonely'gain, an' going to sleep in his arms'd be t'perfect remedy fo' that.

Instead, here we're, separate an' miserable. 'm glad when he finally breaks t'silence. At least tha' moves things along.

"I'm sorry, Daryl. Long day… I didn't mean… It would've just been nice, to have you there. These people…"

An' suddenly I can breathe'gain. He's not happy with me, no. But t'main problem seems t'be not us, but this place, an' t'people. I move closer, and finally find I can look at him. He looks exhausted, an' worried, like he's come upon a dozen new problems during t'day.

Now I don' care how he's just made m'feel, I jus' worry 'bout him. I step right up into his space, til I can touch him, an' take his hand. Jus' hold onto it, hanging there by his side. I'm not tha' great wi' gestures, but I hope he gets it, what I can' say. That I'm there f'him. That he's not alone.

"Wha' happened?"

He sighs, closes his eyes. Leans forward an' puts his head on m'shoulder. Jus' breathes slowly for a bit, holds still. My hand comes up almost wi'out thought an' I put it on his neck, soothe and calm. He finally pulls'way, but he takes both m'hands and looks at me, long an' deep.

"Let's go to bed."

He pulls me up t'stairs, and I follow. How I wish we coul' jus' skip the talkin', though. All this day wi' Aaron was nothing but talk, and I really don' care t'listen t'any more words. But I know he needs it, needs t'talk some, get stuff off his mind, 'fore he can unwind an' settle for t'night.

When we get t'our room and he's closed t'door behind us I pull him over to t'bed an' down next t'me. Now I take his hands.

"Tell me wha' happened."

He looks surprised, grateful but unsure.

"You really wanna know?"

I consider fo' a moment, decide on blunt honesty.

"No. But you need t'talk about it. So go'head."

His smile warms me from t'inside. Somehow I know we've just moved t'somethin' new again. We're no longer alone.

"These people, they are weak, Daryl. They are afraid. Both of that has made them stupid."

Shoul' I tell him Aaron said somethin' real similar today? But I know Rick, he needs t'work through it at his own pace first. Then he'll listen.

"Michonne and I, we tried our best with Deanna, but I don't know if even half of what we said got through. And there's other stuff, I don't even know yet what to think… but it feels nasty."

He looks away, towards t'bay window which is a black rectangle now, reflectin' both of us.

"They don't trust us, Daryl, not a single bit." He looks back at me. "You be careful with them, ok? _All of them_. Thing's'll turn bad quick, if we don't pay attention."

I give a half-nod. I wonder whether I shoul' tell him about Aaron now a'all, about our day, and wha' he's got planned for me. Lookin' at him I decide I better wait. His mood is strange, and while this is definitely Rick, something's shifted suddenly. Thinkin' back I realize what he reminds me of tonight. He's like he was back at t'prison, righ' after Lori died. The thought gives m'nother stab o'fear. He almost didn' come back from tha' dark place her death had flung him then. What if it happens'gain?

"Promise me you'll be careful."

His eyes are two intense pressure points on m'mind, and tha' does nothing t'make the unpleasant fearful feeling disappear. I nod more strongly.

"I'll be careful."

He smiles, then, his eyes softening, an' I relax a little as he looks more like himself. He looks down a'our hands, intertwined between us. Slowly he pulls one away an' places it on the front of m'pants. M'body wastes no time, 'm already half hard before his fingers tighten. I can see t'smile reach his eyes as he watches t'reaction his actions have on me. My pulse picks up as t'arousal grows.

I let him rub me through t'fabric for a while, it feels s'good. I close m'eyes, lean back, brace m'hands on t'bed, press into his hand. When I open m'eyes 'gain he's lookin' at me like nobody has ever looked at m'before. Without thinking I lean towards him, push him back into t'pillows. He sinks down immediately, his eyes still locked wi'mine.

I have him out'f his pants quickly. He's rock hard as I pull down his underwear. I look at'im, sprawled before me, desire written all over his face, an' despite everything, at that moment I feel real happy. I cup his balls wi'one hand an' lean down. As I take him into m'mouth he exhales sharply.

I take my time, lick up and down his shaft slowly. Take him deep, let m'tongue play around the tip of his erection. I can hear a growling start deep inside his chest. I recognize the sound and my heart leaps at how familiar we're getting wi'each other. He starts t'tremble under me, but finally stops me wi'a hand in my hair. I look up.

"Lemme have you."

His eyes are bright wi'lust, an'm happy to oblige. My own erection inside m'pants is almost painful now. I climb off t'bed and quickly strip down, turn t'lights off before m'shirt joins t'heap of clothes on t'floor. I know he's watchin' me, I know he'd rather I didn' plunge us into darkness'gain but, for now, he doesn' question it.

It's our third night together, an' I still find't hard t'believe this's real. As I straddle him, an' he enters me, I forget m'wonderment, an' much else besides. It feels s'good. This angle is new, and it's heaven. As soon as he's fully inside me I know I won' las'a minute.

"Don't hold back. 'm almost there with you."

How he can tell in the near darkness I couldn' say, bu' I can tell from his voice that he's not lying. I start to move and within seconds I can feel him edgin' close.

The angle is near perfection for him to hit m'sweet spot. I feel t'peak approachin' and I speed up almost without meaning t'. His hands are suddenly on me. One intertwines wi't'fingers of m'left hand, the other strokes firmly up and down m'cock.

I feel myself tipping, gliding, falling. He's right there too, an' holds on as I come into his hand and all over his stomach. His back arches off t'bed an' he shakes under me as we ride t'wave together.

When the orgasm ebbs away I slide off him an' lie down next to him. We're both still breathin' hard. He pulls me close and'I put my arms around him. Who cares that we should clean up. There's no rush, an' it's nice t'just lie here and feel close.

I could go t'sleep like this, I feel so comfortable. But evidently his mind is returning to t'worries of t'day, now that t'distraction is wearing off. I can tell he has somethin' else t'talk through before he even says a word.

"When you were over at that doctor's house, Pete. Did you notice anything odd?"

M'gut suddenly feels tight with fear again, and I don' even know why. What's he asking, exactly?

"What d'you mean, odd?"

"I've talked to Jessie a few times, his wife. She's the one who cut my hair."

I wonder where this coul' be going.

"I know. What about her?"

"There's something odd going on with her, she's so sad. Or frightened, I don't know. I saw her around earlier, and then with her husband at Deanna's… There's something not right with these two, but I can't put my finger on it, not yet…"

I feel annoyance bubble up. He's bringin' up this perfect stranger an' her problems now? I don' say anything cos I just have no idea wha' he could possibly want t'hear. But t'relaxed feeling I jus' had is pretty much gone.

He sighs, squeezes m'shoulders, then disentangles himself from me and t'sheets. He gets up, an' I let him go. As he walks around t'bed he distractedly waves one hand at me, the bed an' the clothes all over t'floor.

"Let's get this sorted out and then go to bed. Early start again tomorrow."

Only now do I realize he hasn' asked me one single question about m'day.


	18. Chapter 18

"What're you up to today? Gotta be somewhere this early?"

You suddenly realize, with a sinking feeling, that you have no idea what he did all day yesterday. You saw him being careful with his arm again last night, and if nothing else you should have asked him about that. So much for your resolution to be more mindful of his needs. You were so sure that without walkers crawling all over you day and night you'd have more leisure to put his needs first. Well, maybe it wasn't being too busy that has prevented you from paying proper attention to someone outside yourself. Maybe you're just a selfish dick.

He throws you that look that he used to give all of you when you first met, all narrow eyes, hunched shoulders and suspicion. The look he has when you know he's hurting and wants you to back off. Then he looks away and finishes pulling on his shoes.

"'m going out wi' Aaron. There's a group he's been tracking, wi' Eric. Bu' now Eric's hurt, so they asked me…"

"Look…" Fuck, why did you interrupt him? You're just making it worse, you know it, and yet you keep doing it… "I'm sorry… I mean, I never asked you how things were, last night. Day was so crazy…"

You trail off, but it takes a few moments before he speaks again.

"Yeah. I know."

He gets up off the bed and pulls on his jacket and vest. You wrestle with the sheets, desperate to get up and go to him before he has a chance to slip away. Finally you manage, and hurry round the bed just as he turns towards the door.

"Daryl, please…"

You reach for him, and he flinches away, just as bad as he used to do. You freeze, real fear in your gut now. He's not done this in ages. He doesn't move either, but you can see him tremble. A shudder goes through him, head to toe, like he's fighting hard not to just bolt from the room. You can tell he's really shaken up, and angry.

There were all these big plans in your head last night, how things would be different now, how you'd take care of him, of this… thing between the two of you. You haven't even had a chance to try any of it, and you've already blown it, looks like. You feel ashamed for making him so miserable. What's he ever done to deserve this?

You take another small step towards him, and you can see him quiver. But he stays where he is. It almost breaks your heart, how hard he's fighting his instincts. You know you should stay quiet now, not make this any worse, but the truth is, you're worried, and you feel compelled to tell him why.

"Daryl, you sure it's a good idea, helping them recruit more people?"

He bristles, you can see it. But he keeps it under control. Better, in fact, than you are. You ache for his touch, his eyes on you gentle. Your own eyes sting with tears you don't want to shed. Please, don't let this be the end…

"Wha' d'you mean? You're their constable, why can't I be their recruiter…"

"Recruiter? So this is decided already?"

You know you're doing it all wrong. That tone you use with him? Not the way to go… He stiffens, half turns towards the door.

"I don' need y't'tell me wha' I can' do… 'm not y'pet, or y'child… 'm nobody's bitch…"

You're suddenly annoyed as well as miserable that he could think that's how you see him.

"Of course you're none of these things. But Daryl, you're smarter than that. You know not to take this at face value…"

His head snaps round and he looks at you properly, and the look in his eyes breaks your heart. It's hurt, pride, defiance and a little bit of hatred all mixed together. You know you deserve it.

"Yeah, Rick, I do know. I do… 'm careful, kay? Tol' you I was las' nigh'. No need t'harp on… We can' all be you, jus' focusin' on wha's wrong, all t'time. Some of us are tryin', and we find it hard. 's hard t'let'em get close, when they always… s'many… 'm doin' it fo' t'kids, ok? An' fo'… oh hell, forget it…"

You are sure you see tears starting to roll down his face but before you can reach for him again he's out of the door, gone.

You know better than to follow.


End file.
